Royal Affair (Royal Scandal #1)

by Parker Swift

  Dylan fully abandoned me at the counter and moved in to greet his friends. I could actually see as his posture shifted, could feel the moment when his public jovial in-control mask fell into place. I stood there, cold, bewildered, and looked up at the threesome. The camaraderie between the three of them was unmistakable. They were instantly laughing, recalling having all recently run into someone else they knew, an inside joke tossed between them. The Dylan I’d entered the shop with was gone, and this Dylan, the one for whom a secret was more important than anything, was back.

  For a moment, I hoped. I believed he would turn back around and bring me into their fold. Hadn’t we achieved something this weekend that would make the secrecy impossible?

  I gave him this expectant hopeful moment, keeping my eyes locked on him, but his friend caught my stare and gave me an odd look. He was wary, clearly wondering about me and my prying gaze, and gave Dylan a concerned whisper. Dylan glanced back at me and then offered his friend a shrug, as if to say he had no idea who I was.

  Gone. It was gone.

  Every ounce of delicious intimacy, each gram of joy fell to the floor and puddled around me. I’d never felt so small in my life as I did in that moment. Then I looked to the counter and saw that he’d left a five pound note for my coffee, and in that moment, I’d never felt so cheap. I was a complete and utter fool.

  I hastily paid for my coffee with cash from my own wallet and took the hot cup in my hands. I carefully skirted the boisterous threesome and left, letting that bell clang above me. As the door was shutting behind me, I heard the woman he was talking with say, in her posh exaggerated accent, “So, Amelia Reynolds…” and I was grateful to be gone before I could hear Dylan’s reply.

  Chapter 32

  I stepped into the first taxicab I saw and directed the driver to my office. Before he was around the corner the hot tears were collecting in my eyes. I knew I had signed up for this. I knew that secrecy was part of the deal, that we were a just-sex fling, only meant to last so long, but what I hadn’t known is how it would hurt. The secrecy meant something different now than it had a week ago. I had been kidding myself if I thought I could throw myself in Dylan’s path, allow myself to be so vulnerable with him, and then also allow myself to be compartmentalized into this sliver of his life.

  But the thing was he’d thrown these signs my way that we were more. My fists clenched as I thought about all the moments he’d looked at me, told me, even if it wasn’t with words, that this was more. He’d just spent the entire weekend with me and had been so loving. He’d told Caroline about me. But, then again, what he’d told her about me I didn’t know. I’d probably never know. He could have just been pointing out his latest conquest.

  I was so confused. I was hurt. I was furious. I was furious with him for looking at me the way he did. For kissing me the way he did. For brushing my goddamn hair out of my eyes. What right did he have if he was just going to shove me away like I was nothing? And I was furious with myself. How could I have been so stupid?

  I was pulling up to the curb when Dylan’s first text came in.

  MONDAY, 8:39 am

  Where are you?

  MONDAY, 8:41 am

  Work.

  I don’t know why I replied at all. He didn’t deserve it. The phone immediately started ringing, but I sent it to voicemail. I wouldn’t talk to him right now. I’d been too absorbed in him for three days straight. I needed myself back.

  MONDAY, 8:46 am

  Goddammit, Lydia. Answer.

  MONDAY, 8:47 am

  Can’t talk. Walking into meeting with Hannah.

  I was suddenly incredibly grateful I hadn’t yet shared my work calendar with him. I needed space, but I didn’t want to text him that. I silenced my phone, put it in my bag, and tackled work email for a bit to try to put the morning behind me. He had disappeared on me, and now I needed to disappear. If for no other reason than for self-preservation. It wasn’t long before there was an actual meeting, and I was able to fully distract myself from the growing pit in my stomach.

  * * *

  The pace at work was frenetic, and all hands were busy accomplishing our own work plus that of three other people. Fiona leaned over and assured me that the parties following these hellish weeks would be well worth it. But at that moment I couldn’t imagine enjoying anything. The way he had so easily switched from attending to me to pretending I meant nothing felt like a knife to the chest. It hurt because it was cruel. But more than that it hurt because it was a lie.

  At one thirty lunch was brought in for everyone from a local restaurant, and we took a miniscule break to feed ourselves, although I could barely touch the food. I just wasn’t up for it. I took the time to check my phone. There were three missed calls from Dylan and one text.

  MONDAY, 1:08 pm

  You’re mad. I get it. But will you please talk to me? I’m worried.

  I had no idea what to do. Part of me wanted to give him the silent treatment all day, shut him out the way he’d shut me out. But really, I didn’t want to punish him. I didn’t even know what I wanted. I just needed to be by myself.

  MONDAY, 1:10 pm

  Can I just have some space?

  I’m sure he wanted an explanation, but I didn’t know how to explain. I didn’t even know if I’d be able to stay away, but right then I couldn’t breathe. The tension between what I knew I was starting to feel for him, maybe already felt for him, and his own limited feelings for me was possibly more than I could bear. I felt like I was being shoved through the door of something that would forever make me regret having let someone in.

  I looked at my phone and saw the indicator that he was replying. It appeared and disappeared several times, but finally a reply arrived.

  MONDAY, 1:14 pm

  OK

  I suspected he wasn’t quite sure what to make of my own sudden change in mood. Well, I wasn’t either. He’d just have to wait for me to figure it out.

  * * *

  When I arrived home, I found myself sending Dylan an I’m home text out of habit. I immediately cursed myself.

  The text was marked as “read” but I didn’t receive a reply right away. The signal that he was typing appeared and disappeared as it had before, but then it disappeared and didn’t come back. I had asked for space, and I suppose he was actually going to give it to me. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but maybe there was something he would be able to say that would make this sick feeling go away.

  I sighed audibly and headed upstairs to get out of my work clothes. I changed into leggings, a t-shirt, and my favorite worn-in NYU hoodie and came down to the kitchen to put together some dinner. This was one of those nights when not having a mom to call stung and missing my father made my chest hurt. As part of my vow to get back to myself I vowed to get to Primrose Hill that week—maybe it would be the balm I needed. I made my dad’s famous macaroni and cheese, poured myself a glass of wine, and settled onto the couch to call Daphne. Thankfully she picked up on the second ring.

  “Lydia! I’m so glad you caught me. I am getting ready to go to class in a bit. How was your weekend with Dylan?”

  Oh god. Hearing Daphne’s voice brought all of my feelings to the surface, and I started to cry. “I…I—” I couldn’t even get the words out.

  “Oh no, Lydia! What’s going on? What did that bastard do to you?”

  I breathed through the tears and tried to organize my thoughts. “Nothing, I mean he didn’t do anything. Or everything. God, I don’t even know.”

  “You sound terrible.”

  “I know. I just…you were right to be concerned about the secrecy thing.” I heard her voice agreement. “It was fine, really it was going fine. And he actually explained his fear of the press more to me this weekend. This weekend we were closer than ever…Or I thought we were.” I told her about the house, the walk, and how I’d fallen asleep in his car. “And, Daphne, I mean, I’m sure you saw this coming, but I think I’m falling in love with him—”

&nbs
p; “Lydia, I think that ship has sailed.”

  “You’re probably right, but I can’t say it to myself yet.” I told her about what happened at the coffee shop in the morning, “And it just hurt in a way I didn’t expect it to. He has been completely upfront with me, he’s given me no reason to have different expectations. He told me we weren’t going to be public. It’s not fair of me to feel this way.”

  “That’s complete and utter horseshit, Lydia. Maybe you both thought that’d be fine, but no one has any business setting the parameters of a relationship like this in advance. There’s no way to know how anyone will feel. It was naïve of him to think he could put up this barrier and assume it wouldn’t change things or that you guys wouldn’t change and run up against it. It was naïve of him to think he wouldn’t fall in love with you!” She sounded so reasonable, but she also didn’t know Dylan. If there was someone who was impervious to normal human behavior, it was probably him.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “You have to say that because you already love me.”

  “Not true! I mean, yes, of course I love you. You’re lovable.” I loved Daphne’s emphatic support. “But Lydia, he doesn’t sound like someone who is keeping his emotional distance. Everything that he’s done, everything you’ve talked about? He can say it’s meaningless all he wants, but his actions say something else. I mean, of course you were falling in love—I think you both were, even if the dipshit doesn’t want to admit it. ”

  “I know, but Daphne, this guy is like the king of seduction.” She laughed out loud, and I began to see through my tears. “I wouldn’t put it past him to use romance as a way into my pants—not that that makes him different than any other guy, I guess—but, I mean, he’d be able to do it without feeling it. He is like master of his universe. ” And mine apparently. “He’s never out of control for a second. You don’t get that successful that fast by getting emotionally involved.”

  “Who is this cynical person I’m talking to? And where is Lydia? You’re kind of making him sound like a psychopath. Do you really believe that about him?”

  Did I? I thought for a moment. “No, I don’t. I just want to understand this. I know in my gut that he cares about me. So how could he do this?”

  “Lydia, I can’t answer that. Maybe he’s freaked out? Maybe he’s just a lame-ass guy who doesn’t know how to express himself. Who knows?! But Lydia, there’s only one way to find out. You have to talk to him.” Ugh, I knew she was going to say that. “I think he cares about you. I know he does. Don’t you think he deserves to know if this secrecy thing isn’t working for you? Don’t you think he deserves to know how you feel about him?” She was making it sound like a healthy adult conversation would solve this problem, but she didn’t know Dylan and his extenuating circumstances.

  “But what if that means it’s over?” In my gut I knew that it would be. He’d been pretty clear that it was his way or the highway.

  “I can’t answer that one for you, L. You’ll be ok though, no matter what.”

  “Thanks, Daph. I miss you.”

  “I miss you too. I wish I were there, so we could drink a bottle of wine and watch Mean Girls and paint our toes.”

  “Me too.” And as I said it, I realized just how much I missed my best friend.

  “Let’s do it from afar!” She said, suddenly bubbly.

  “What? Now? Don’t you have to go to class?”

  “Eh, whatever. If there was ever a reason to miss class, it’d be this. Do you have the movie on your computer?”

  “Yes! Let’s switch to video chat, so we don’t go broke.”

  “Perfect.”

  Daphne and I spent the rest of my evening watching the movie together and chatting. Thank god for her. Eventually I fell asleep on the couch, a little less despondent, a little bit drunk, and so grateful for my best friend.

  Chapter 33

  I woke to soft strokes against my forehead, and I opened my eyes to see a haggard-looking Dylan leaning over me.

  “Baby, I’m sorry. I know you asked for space, but I couldn’t stay away.”

  I fluttered my eyes fully open, and started to try to sit myself up on the couch. But Dylan reached under me and lifted me into his arms. “I’m sorry I woke you—I just didn’t want to scare you. I’m taking you to bed.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Nearly one.”

  “How did you get in?”

  He rounded the corner and began climbing the stairs. “You left the door unlocked again.” He held me tightly as he made his way to my room. He put me down in bed, and tucked me under the covers. He stood at the side of the bed and ran his hand through his hair. “Can I stay?”

  I nodded and rolled to my side, facing away from him. Was I ever going to be able to stay away? I did want him there, but I also wanted him away. I was fighting with myself as much as I wanted to fight with him. He stripped out of his clothing and slid in next to me, pulling me into him so my head was lying on his firm chest. I started to outline his muscles with my fingers, stroking him gently. I wanted so badly to be where we were twenty-four hours earlier. He smelled so good, and just being this close to him was awakening all of my senses, awakening all of my wants, all of the closeness. The feel of him next to me, holding me, was turning me on, and it felt like there was nothing I could do to stop it. He rolled to face me and brought his hand between us to unzip my sweatshirt. He looked into my face, asking permission to continue, but suddenly the whole day and all of its pain flooded back to my senses. The anger. The hurt. It was there again. Fresh.

  I grabbed his hand and stopped him. He looked alarmed for a moment, but his look changed to curiosity when I resumed the unzipping myself.

  I shed my hoodie and began to sit up, pulling the straps of my tank top from my shoulders. He reached out and tried to touch, but I pulled away and removed my top completely. I could see the slight panic in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I hurt you.”

  “Yes.” I felt a tear escape, but I pulled them back before they had a chance to let loose. I wasn’t ready to talk about this. I could feel the end of us coming, like we’d been swimming in high seas, and the tide was about to go out.

  “Baby,” he said, as he wiped the stray tear from my cheek. “I wanted to introduce you, Lydia. I did. You know I can’t—”

  I cut him off. “I just want to forget about it right now.” I could hear Daphne’s voice flash through my head—we should talk. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to fuck. I wanted to fuck him.

  He leaned over me and started to curl his hands into the waistband of my leggings, trying to bring me to him. But I swatted his hand away and made quick work of getting rid of them myself.

  I flipped over him, rose to straddle him, and pushed his shoulders into the mattress. I leaned over to kiss him. My lips hovered over his mouth, but I couldn’t bring myself to kiss him there, as though if I did he might be able to swallow me whole, drain me of any strength I had left. Instead I put my lips against his neck and sucked. Hard. Determined to leave my own mark on Dylan Hale. His eyes were wide, but willing. For the first time I was calling the shots.

  I reached between us to position him at my entrance and sank onto him, taking him in completely in one swift movement.

  “Lydia.” He groaned. He angled his pelvis and, putting his hands at my hips, tried to lift and lower me, but I grabbed his wrists and moved them to the side of his head, pinning them there. I’d do the lifting and lowering. I’d do the kissing and not kissing. I’d summon his body the way I’d let him summon mine.

  I closed my eyes and lost myself in him completely. I couldn’t bear to look at him, afraid of the emotions I’d feel if I did. And he must have sensed it, because he didn’t ask me to open my eyes or to look into his. He was quiet and let me lead. He was so deep this way, and angled so perfectly, we reached a fever pitch, and I could feel his groans vibrating in his chest. I threw my head back as I felt myself tighten, clenching through the oncoming orgasm. I’d
never felt so alone with him, nor had I ever needed him so badly. I didn’t know where we were headed, but right now, I needed this. I cried out as the raw pleasure released through me. Dylan came at the same time, and let his hips fall to the mattress. I collapsed on top of him, inhaling his scent and letting my cheek and chest be warmed by him.

  Finally, he withdrew, and I rolled off of him onto my side, my back facing his front. He took a tissue from the bedside table and dried between my legs, carefully cleaning me. He pulled me close and caught his breath in my hair. We didn’t speak, but I could feel the tension, the concern, the distance. Eventually, well after I heard his breathing even into a relaxed rhythm, I drifted back into a restless sleep.

  * * *

  The light was just creeping into the room, and he continued to sleep as I tiptoed around my bedroom and readied myself for work. It wasn’t even six in the morning, but the truth was that I couldn’t bear to have another morning with him, knowing that I was in love with him, and he was never going to love me back, never going to give me more. If last night was any indication, I simply couldn’t handle it. I wasn’t built for this level of hurt, this kind of helpless anger. I had let myself fall too far down the rabbit hole. I wasn’t sure I’d ever fully recover, but the sooner I got out, the better chance I’d have.

  I could feel a cloud settling over me. Before I left the room, I kissed him while he was sleeping and left a note on my pillow:

  I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry. —L

  I was grateful for the early-morning quiet walk to the tube. There were far fewer of us making the trek at this hour, but I certainly wasn’t alone. I replayed the last night in my mind. He said that he had wanted to introduce us, but then why didn’t he? Dylan Hale did as he pleased. If he’d really wanted to introduce me to his friends, he would have. This was going to be torture, and I’d have to find some way to stay away. But fuck, I just couldn’t resist him. He came into my house in the middle of the night like some kind of stalker, and instead of confronting him, or letting him have it, I threw myself at him. I shook my head in frustration at myself—surely making every early-morning commuter think I was crazy.